


Familial Trait

by rkvian



Series: Honey Whiskey [2]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: 31 Days of Apex, 31 Days of Miraith, F/M, Graphic Description, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25066861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rkvian/pseuds/rkvian
Summary: Murder was not uncommon in Solace City, but it wasn’t often people talked about it. When Outlands TV breaks a story on a possible serial killer case with an eerie M.O, a name comes up that prompts Wraith into action. Of course, Mirage and Pathfinder aren't far behind.
Relationships: Mirage | Elliott Witt/Wraith | Renee Blasey
Series: Honey Whiskey [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811650
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Familial Trait

**Author's Note:**

> a/n at the end.  
>   
> This is Day 02: Blood

Murder was not uncommon in Solace City, but it wasn’t often people talked about it.

Mirage rubbed the rim of a brandy snifter with a piece of cloth, watching Outlands TV News at Six broadcast something about a woman found on the border between Perigo and Solace’s Docking Bay around 4 AM that day. Rats had been feasting on the body when it found, and it's suspected she's been there for at least a week. Gangrene had already spread from her hands and feet, suggesting she was bound so tight her appendages died while she was still alive. He knew he should be desensitized over the years of crazy shit he saw and did in the Apex Games, but holy fuck, this was another level entirely.

_“The woman kept her eyes this time”_ , the News caster said. That’s how he found out this wasn’t an isolated case; that this was the fifth victim with the same cause of death. “ _Her fiancée swore it was supposed to be green. Her irises are white.”_

He felt rather than saw Wraith froze from the other side of the bar top. The Trickster turned to her to comment about it, when a dude with tousled hair and bronze skin slinked up to them, leaning against the mahogany closer to the Skirmisher instead of the stool next to her.

“Hey man,” He raised fingers at him, “How about a martini?”

“Yeah, sure.” Mirage glanced at Wraith just in time to see her lift her appletini to her lips. _Don’t leave me_ , she seemed to tell him with narrowed eyes. He waggled his eyebrows at her and turned to the bar wall, setting up the necessary ingredients. With the ease of his bartending experience, he sorted through gin and dry vermouth, pouring the ingredients in the shaker and twisting it shut.

“You come here often?”

“Why?” Wraith asked back.

A grin formed on his lips but he didn’t give into laughter; professionalism and all that. The Skirmisher always insisted she isn’t paranoid, just careful.

“Nothing.” The man said. Silence permeated between them. The only thing he swore he could hear was the HoloTV and the rowdier crowd on the more public side of the bar. Hell, even his shaker was louder than the awkwardness between the two of them. Dude’s gonna find out the hard way Wraith thrived in making people uncomfortable. “You’re Wraith.”

“What does it matter?”

“I’m Riptide.” He cleared his throat, as though he was changing his style, “We’ve queued once before. I’m also a Legend like you.”

“I’ve fought a lot of Games.” She seemed to take another sip from her drink, “Sorry if I can’t remember you.”

“No—no, it’s fine.” Riptide’s voice rose, and they were quiet again.

Mirage twisted the shaker open and poured the martini into glass. “Hey man, olive or lemon?”

“Apple, if you have more of those.”

Oh, that’s just priceless. He opened the cap where he kept fresh slices of green apples, carefully hooking one on the lip of the glass and finishing the garnish. There’s only one other person he had ever seen openly hit on Wraith in his bar, and that dude made the mistake of insulting her taste of liquor. This one's being complimentary without sucking up.

Word probably got around, he mused, serving the guy his order. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, man.”

And, silence.

Mirage went back to wiping glasses. Usually, he’d lend patrons a little hand in flirting but this is Wraith. It’s a lot more entertaining to see people fumble around her and get shut down, than the usual payback he receives from helping hopeless blokes get into other hopeless blokes' pants. At least—well, that’s the reason. He thinks.

The OTV News caster droned on about additional details of the case, and had he known _this_ is when the course of his night would turn, he would have gone up to his room for a change of clothes first. But he didn’t, and Riptide said:

“Did you know there’s rumors Muller did the murder?”

Wraith’s head turned towards him, her eye brows furrowing, “Muller?”

“The geneticist in Perigo who offers cheap services.” Riptide stood a little straighter under the Skirmisher's attention. “Friend of mine said he knew someone who saw him dispose of the woman’s body from his center. There’s talk he’s trying to experiment on human eye being able to see infrared light, but no one really knows if that’s true. You see, we've—”

He raised an eyebrow at the turn of conversation and noticed Wraith growing agitated at the exchange. She turned to the HoloTv, her jaw clenched and narrowed a dangerous look in her eyes. The man seemed entirely ignorant to it.

“—show you where they left it. The same friend, well, he told me how they—”

“Between you and me, Jack,” He slipped into the conversation, “I don’t think she’s interested.”

Riptide threw a discreet glare at him, “We’re having a conversation here.”

“And now we’re not.” Wraith drummed her fingers against the bar top, eight taps until she looked away from the HoloTV to fix the stranger a look.

The man shifted his attention between the Skirmisher's blank expression to the half-smile on the Trickster's lips, and read the atmosphere right.

“My name isn’t Jack.” Riptide spat and pulled himself away from the mahogany, his footsteps heavy as he stormed off.

Wraith snorted, “Jack, really?”

“People call him Rakehell Ripper, so I call him Jack.” That made her give him a confused look, “Y’know, Jack the Ripper? An infamous Core World—I thought it would be funny, alright?”

She shook her head and smiled wryly. Wraith’s taken to hanging out—more like pestering him, really—when she didn’t have Games the next day. It started several weeks ago, some days after she collapsed on the very spot she’s lounging at the moment. It’s a little shameful he also didn’t notice anything was wrong with her back then but at least he knew what signs to look for now. And right now, there’s color in her cheeks, and it’s nice to see her healthy.

“What do you know about him?”

“Well,” Mirage tilted his head, “he's goes through his lovers like he’s changing clothes, so if you’re gonna date—”

“I meant Muller.”

He pursed his lips. Give people enough drinks and ask the right questions, and his patrons were usually keen on spilling their secrets. Add the fact his bar is situated between Solace's affluent business hub, the Apex Games’ compound, and the slum district Perigo, Mirage happen to hear _a lot_.

So, he ran what he knew about the Muller guy in his head, which is surprisingly not much. All of which is not good.

For once, he hoped she’s interested in the jackass instead.

“Name’s Franklin Muller. Like what Jack said he’s a geni—genecisist—DNA doctor—in Perigo, with a bad rep.” Mirage trailed off, starting to connect the ideas and where this was going. “He was an accessory to an organ ring a few years ago and wasn't caught. That’s about all I know about him. I can ask around.” _White eyes. Experiments_. “You ain’t planning on doing something crazy, right?”

Wraith’s didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

The look on her face made her plan apparent.

The Skirmisher pushed away from the bar top and turned sharply around, and his heart jolted the same way it always does when she rushes into a fight, “Wraith, come on, just leave it to the—Wraith! Hey, _wait_.”

She didn’t even look back, walking straight into the throng of patrons who were now staring oddly between the two of them. Mirage groaned and rubbed a hand against his face. Great, that’s going to be a thing tomorrow.

But Muller—he can’t possibly be working alone, can he? His involvement in the organ ring wasn’t a secret but he did evade the Syndicate. He should have been caught ages ago if he was as careless as Jack’s source. He isn’t. Which means either Solace's big dogs are protecting him, or he contracted a notorious mercenary company. Mirage shifted his attention back to the space Wraith passed through. 

Ah, what the hell, there's nothing to do tonight. It's not like he can leave her to deal with whatever mess this is shaping to be anyway.

Drawing his phone from his jean pocket, he sifted through the notifications and made a few calls.

* * *

“Tell me again,” Mirage began, “how you plan on finding him?”

Instinctively, Wraith drew her Wingman at the sound of his voice and pointed the muzzle to his chest. The Skirmisher blinked when he registered and anger flashed across her face. “One of these days, I’m going to accidentally shoot you.” She shoved him backwards by the shoulder, hissing, “And I won’t regret it.”

“But ya didn’t.”

“Doesn’t make it any better.” Her lips pressed together, “What are you even doing here?”

Mirage shrugged and moved away from the shadows of the building, “We figured you’d drop by your place before going on a man hunt.”

“We?”

The sound of robotic movement and Pathfinder raised a hand from behind him, “Hi friend.”

“Hi Path.” Wraith answered automatically. Her eyes hardened when it turned back to him, “What’s going on?”

That’s the complicated part. The explanation for it involves four contacts, six phone calls, and almost an hour-long summary. Wraith ain’t got an appreciation for the dramatics though so he said without pomp, “We need a ship. DNA doctor’s gone.”

“Exc—” Her stature changed instantly, “What do you mean he’s _gone_?”

A couple passed by the three of them, giggling and walking deeper into the apartment complex. Mirage waited until they were out of ear-shot despite knowing the people in this district didn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone else’s business—which was why Wraith decided to live here in the first place.

“I got a contact to look into him after you left—told you to wait by the way—and he broke into Muller’s place. It’s been cleaned out. There’s nothing there. Neighbors said they hadn’t seen him for almost a week.”

“But the news said...damn it.” Wraith shoved her hair off her face, clicking her tongue. “I should have gone sooner.”

When she didn’t add anything, he asked, “Anything you wanna tell us?”

“Is there a way we can get a ship?” She asked back.

“Please,” He rolled his eyes, “You’re talking to _the_ Mirage. I own one.”

“Good. I'll tell you everything later.” Wraith said, pushing past him and Path, “Let’s go.”

* * *

He’s going to owe a lot of players in Solace favors after tonight, but at least they got the information they needed: Muller left at 16:58 six days ago in a Brick Ship painted black he affectionately called Dahlia. The geneticist didn’t leave any trace about his destination, but Pathfinder _did_ manage to finagle Dahlia's transponder frequency from a fellow MRVN, who performed maintenance on the ship before it left.

Which brings them to now:

“Lady and robot, I present to you,” He flourished his hand to the vehicle behind him, “The Bamboozler.”

Despite her dour mood, Wraith’s eyes lit up. Pathfinder’s question mark turned into an exclamation then heart-eyed, clapping his metal hands together. That was the expected reaction, because it _was_ a beautiful sight. The Bamboozler is magnificent, beguiling, exquisite, and...synonyms, with its sleek light grey hull, yellow accents and black trimming. He didn't even need to be biased to compliment it because it fully deserves the praise.

Mirage led them to the boarding ramp, engaging the locks after the three of them are inside. Light automatically flickered on the hall leading to a small, unfurnished room at the base of the cockpit.

The Skirmisher looked around, “The interior looks familiar. Is this a Goblin?”

“You know your ships.” He shot Wraith a grin, “Yeah, it’s a retrofitted Goblin transporter. This bad girl,” he rapped his knuckles against the clean grey walls, “has less fire power in exchange for multicore shielding, extended fuel cells and prototype cloak system designed by—” he pointed to himself, “—that’s right, me.” It's feat, to say all of those without stuttering...not that he spent a _lot_ of time practicing or anything.

Really, didn't.

“That’s amazing, friend.” Pathfinder cooed, and the Trickster pointed finger guns back.

“Thank you. And that’s why you’re my favorite robot.”

He watched Wraith make her way around the ship, pausing to examine the trinkets in the room before heading straight to the cockpit. He and Pathfinder stepped up next to her, the emotion on the Scout's monitor unchanging.

“Can you pilot?”

Wraith gave him a look, “It’s your ship.”

“I don’t really fly often.” He grinned bashfully, taking the co-pilot’s seat. “Y’know, between the Games and the Bar.”

The Skirmisher nodded, sliding into high-grade Leviathan leather seat. Her hand traced the set of controls as if she was remembering what each of it did. _I was a Senior Science Pilot once_ , she told him weeks ago, and he wondered if it was as similar as her saying, _I don’t remember how I learned to shoot a gun, I just do._

Guess the time for break was over. The engine started humming beneath their feet, and Wraith was quick to go through pre-flight check-ups. “Path,” She turned to the MRVN still standing behind them, “Can you port the transponder frequency?”

“Of course, friend.” His left hand transformed into the same tool he uses to scan beacons, and inserted it into the pedestal.

“You can really find him with that?” Mirage watched her open a system on the console, while he accessed the navigational display. He reached for his communicator and pop it into his ears, just in case someone tried to contact them.

“It’s not as good as a tracer, but yes, we’ll be able to determine the routes he took via feedbacks. Wait,” Wraith frowned. “Something isn’t right. Path, you sure you got the correct frequency?”

The MRVN’s monitor switched to a question mark, “Yes friend, a hundred percent sure. What’s wrong?”

“He never left Solace.” She gestured to the interface, at the dark red dot among the sea of green. “He’s in Madidi, a forest ravine North of Sow.”

The interface refreshed every five seconds and sure enough, Dahlia remained unmoving deep in the bowels of Sow’s forests. Well this just confirmed it: Muller can't possibly be working alone. The question now was who his benefactor—or benefactors—happen to be, because there's a huge chance the three of them will be pissing off a Solace big shot or two. Midnight sky stretched above them as the Bamboozler rose from the tree line.

“Think we should be ready for a large-scale fight?”

“Be ready for anything.” She answered without blinking. “Path, hold on to something, we’re about to jump.”

“Just a moment, friend.” The MRVN tottered to the third seat several spaces away from them, reserved for the person controlling the turret on top of the ship. Fitting, because he had the best aim out of the three of them. “I’m ready.”

“Alright.” Wraith said, “In five seconds. Three, two…”

Solace’s evening lights flickered in various neon colors and it left streaks of flashes in his eyes when they jumped across the world. He braced himself against the seat in case there was a surprise attack, but there was nothing.

Outside the windows, there was only darkness.

“Cloak system’s engaged.” He informed his squad, “Did I go blind from Solace or is it just really dark out there?”

“It looks like we’re in space.” Pathfinder mused. Mirage glanced over his chair to find the MRVN with his own heads-up display. “Dahlia is a mile away. I think you made an error in calculations, friend.”

“I did it on purpose.” Wraith said. “I thought it would be better to get a little survey of the area instead of jumping directly on top of them.”

“Smart, and that’s—are those flyers?” The Trickster’s eyes were starting to adjust to the dimness, and he noticed three of the reptilian creatures zipping by in front of them, making a dive below. They were spotted and larger than the ones in King's Canyon, although it was difficult to determine what color they were. When Wraith said it was a forest ravine, it really was. There were giant trees covered in vines, growing down to smaller ones nearer the forest floor. The biome went as far as the moon shone light on Madidi, stretching from below them, to the horizon. “I’m surprised there’s no Leviathans here.”

Path’s monitor turned to an excited one, “There are some in the canyon to our North East, friend! There are seven, in fact.”

“Shit.” He turned to Wraith, “I was joking. Please don’t tell me we’re going to pass through that.”

“No.” Wraith answered, and he was about to quip back but then she says, “We’re here.”

The mood in the cockpit immediately shifted at the words. Their navigational chart was empty, but Wraith’s system displayed the dark red dot pulsating several meters in front and below of them. Mirage craned his head beyond the console to the window outside, and the black painted Brick Ship was nestled between the side of a cliff and a jungle of giant native Solace trees.

“Plan?”

She met his eyes, “I’ll go in and look for Muller.”

“And?”

“Ask a few questions.”

“Just you?”

“This isn’t the Apex Games, Mirage.” The Skirmisher held the urge to scowl, “You get shot, the nearest hospital is halfway across the continent.”

“Exactly,” He quipped back, “which is why you need backup. Right Path?”

The MRVN waved a jovial hand, “That’s why we’re here, friend.”

Wraith was glowering at him, and he didn’t like the idea of going down there either, but damn if she’s going alone. They both knew the danger. Just because no one was shooting now didn’t mean the entire ship was any more safe. The Bamboozler cruised towards clearing on top of the cliff, and by there, they equipped their hardlight armors, guns, and set on foot.

* * *

Dahlia was empty.

They broke into the Brick Ship through the cargo hold, and there were crates and crates of supplies enough for an army of mercenaries, but the halls were empty. The sleeping quarters they passed through had assorted belongings scattered over beds, but their owners weren’t there. His first thought was that Butcher lied to him. Maybe _she_ was Muller’s benefactor, this was some sort of ambush to get rid of them, and he led his friends here to die.

Except, some details of it were too eerie to pass off.

The Mess Hall had half-eaten food on plates poised as if people got up and forgot to return to it; several glasses were about full and others nearly empty, and there’s still not a single evidence of human life.

“Are we going to keep pretending none of this is creepy at all?” Was how he broke the silence between the three of them, waving a hand across the deserted area. “Because it is.”

Wraith set her Carbine aside, one hand moving a plate containing paste-looking, protein rich food. “These are at least two days old."

“I’m thinking prowlers, but the place is too clean. Well, not exactly, have you seen the walls? This ship has not tasted a proper mainetance—maintenance?—in years. But there’s no blood.” He didn’t think he was making a lot of sense, but Wraith was looking at him seriously and he knew he at least said something important. “Maybe there’s some mutated monster that dragged and kidnapped all of the people away?”

_Aaaand_ it’s gone.

“Friends,” Pathfinder perked up all of a sudden, just as they were heading towards the kitchen. “I’m not very sure of this information, but I think I saw something earlier.”

“What did you hear?”, “When?”

“Before we entered.” The MRVN flashed a worried look, “It looked like a human but it was crouched on its fours and baring its teeth, like a prowler.”

That sent a jolt of nervousness in his veins.

“W-wh—that’s scary, what the hell.” He waved a hand, “Wait, you thought about telling us just _now_?”

Path’s monitor turned to a sad one, “I wasn’t sure, friend! I thought it—”

“Path?” Wraith prompted. “Are those—”

“—Wraith looked upset, and you looked stressed—”

“Are you going to tell me they were naked too?” Mirage continued, “Fangs for teeth and bony as hell because that’s Nightmare fuel, right there—”

“—and I didn’t really want to bother anyone when I was not sure—”

“—could have asked us if we saw the same—”

“Both of you, _shut up_.”

Path and him turned to Wraith, who was in front of them facing the exit. Her weapon was aimed towards the doorway, and he peeked over her right shoulder and—

“ _What the fuck!_ ” Mirage scrambled to point his Flatline at the thing on its fours in front of them.

At his movement, two others descended from the stairs, falling down the metal flooring on a sick _thunk_. They weren’t naked, thankfully, but the the trail of blood dripping from lashes _did not_ make it better. Neither did the odd dry sound emanating from their throats. The lump of organ behind eyelids were mushed oddly, and when the nearest to them stepped forward to make more room for its buddies dropping by, it used the stump of its wrist to prowl.

“What the fuck.” He muttered again, glancing at Wraith, “Are we going to shoot?”

“Oh, the patches on their arms.” Pathfinder, the craziest ass of a robot, had the gall to sound excited, “They’re the Black Aces. It’s the merc company. We’re not alone, we found the people!”

“That is _not_ a good thing right now, Tin can!”

“Stop shouting at Path.” Wraith snapped.

“How are you so calm?” He asked back, waving his hand in front, “What about the things? In front of us? Ain't we suppose to panic? Because I swear to all the Spirits and the gods, and the All Father, if they try to attack us— _Wraith_.”

She stepped closer to the group of around seventeen, several of it shifting their noses in the air, as if smelling them. “They’re still human Mirage.”

“They are really, really—”

“Hey.” There went the Skirmisher, approaching the nearest man, “What happened here?”

The Trickster shoved a hand into his hair, resisting the urge to tug in it. The man didn’t make any indications he could hear or understand her.

“Are you in pain, do you need help?”

Nothing.

She exhaled harshly, “Do you know anyone named Franklin Muller?”

The reaction was immediate. The same, closest, human began to scream, and the whole group echoed the wailing. Mirage winced at the deafening sound of it, lowering his Flatline to press a hand against his ear.

“I think you should—”

Whatever he was about to say was lost when the man tackled Wraith to the ground, baring its bloodied teeth at her. He shot before really thinking about it, and the man howled in pain, pulling himself away from her. She pushed to her elbows and looked back at him in surprise—like how dare he try to save her, right? 

“I know he needs help. I didn’t go for a head shot.” Mirage said quickly, pulling her up, “But you ain’t gonna get any answers from him.”

“We need to find Muller.” Wraith said. “He has to be here.”

“Yeah, that’s the best bet.”

“Friends?” Path queried, “I think they’re going to attack now.”

Understatement of the night. The bullet sounds agitated the group. Their screeching turned from misery into resentment, and they did move prowler-like, shifting and lowering their bodies to the floor before pouncing at the sound of noises. Those at the back jumped over and started biting each other, spitting blood and flesh on the ground. The ones on the front line leapt directly at them, and they had no choice but to shoot.

The Skirmisher gave a frustrated growl, “Don’t kill them.”

It was honestly easier said than done. Mirage aimed for their legs and arms, survivable wounds enough to decommission them, but he couldn’t help the stray shots. They fight through a wave of at least thirty people pilling into the door way and the outer half of the Mess Hall, but the peace didn't last.

More and more seemed to arrive to replace the ones they down. Men, women, some of them were Black Aces, the others looked like Ship crew from their clothing. It became obvious that disabling them weren’t enough. As much as he’s hesitating to, and as much as Wraith didn’t want to, the humans pushed them to the kitchen with their aggression, scratching the side of his face and knocking Pathfinder to the ground. When shot, the humans settled for dragging their limbs around and biting whatever they could sink their teeth into. Not them, but the downed inevitably started eating each other.

He turned away from the sight of a woman gnawing another's vocal cords in front of them, to the dwindling numbers of the ones still incoming. Seven, four, and then finally, two.

It was not quiet in the after math.

There were still growling and gurgling and crowing in pain, and Wraith didn’t seem to be able to take her eyes away from it. Blood had long started to seep out of the bodies, staining the metal flooring into dark red. It was everywhere, now that there was time to survey the damage. There was blood spatter across the tables and the conjoined chairs, the walls, the main glass window of the kitchen, on each other. The copper smell began to permeate the air, and he held the urge to vomit.

Pathfinder stood down, “I think we got all of them, friends.”

Mirage slowly approached the Skirmisher. “You good?”

“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse when she answered, “We should go.”

“Do you need—”

“Let’s just keep going.” Wraith walked ahead without warning, stepping over unmoving bodies and jumping over the convulsing ones. “Muller’s got to be somewhere in this ship.”

Pathfinder shuffled behind him, “How about you, friend, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The two of them set into following the Skirmisher’s pace. “You?”

“I am undamaged. Wraith isn’t.”

“I know.”

* * *

Wraith went straight to the Medical Bay. She was supposed to head to the Battery, but they all heard something move in the place and she didn't hesitate walking towards the locked door.

“Any of you can hack it?” These words were asked without taking her eyes off the glass, and he and Pathfinder exchanged a look.

“Not really,”, “Sorry, friend.”

Without another word, she reared back and slammed her boots at the area near the lock. It was loud and distracting, and whoever was inside surely must have heard her, but she repeated the motion anyway, shattering light metal and plexiglass into pieces.

The smell of blood was immediate.

He gasped-choked over the stench of it, pressing his scarf up to his nose and mouth. It was everywhere—on the counter tops, on the faucets, dripping from medical pods lining the whole bay. There were ten in total—the very same ones used for the Games—and all of it contained a person bound on their hands and feet, slotted into what seemed to be metals on the top and bottom to hold them in place. There were machines hovering over their faces. He made the mistake of peering close to the nearest one, and found several needles lodged into each of the man's eyes, deep enough that it has to be penetrating his brain.

Wraith’s footsteps echoed further inside the inner part of the Medbay.

“Is that—oh thank the Spirits!”

All three of them aimed their weapons to an old, clean-shaven man who popped out of the operating area at the other end, raising his hands up in the air. He was wearing proper civilian clothes, and he looked a little shaken but unharmed.

“I’m normal, I swear.” He said hurriedly.

Mirage narrowed his eyes, “Sounds like something a not-normal person would say.”

“No, I am.” He walked towards the Skirmisher. “It was horrible. We were supposed to conduct a medical mission at the nomadic tribe near this area but we were betrayed. Dr. Brooks gave everyone this tincture at dinner one night and...and it was horrible. She had the Black Aces take the crew and started experimenting. The rest of them escaped to the wilderness. I didn’t know what she wanted from it. I tried to stop her but I couldn't so I hid before it was too late. You saved me, Wraith.”

Blood rushed to his ears at the sound of the last words.

_You saved me—_

He aimed his rifle, “Wraith, get away from—”

She beat him to it. The Skirmisher met his open arms midway and slammed her fist to his face hard enough that his jaw cracked. He yelped backward but she held on to his shirt and punched him again, knocking him to the floor. She dropped her knee into the man's stomach, making him whimper noises in his throat that turned immediately into unintelligible begging. Sick wet squelches gurgled each time she landed a hit, and she didn’t stop pummeling. It took Mirage several seconds to get over his shock to realize _this_ must be the Muller they were looking for. 

It was a far cry from what he expected. He thought he would be a little like Caustic, a burly man capable of shattering glasses with his fists but really, he's just a pathetic old man who happened to have connections and knew how to play his cards. He's cowering on the ground, waving his arms and howling indecipherable syllables past his broken teeth.

He stepped closer to the two.

“Wraith, you have to stop.”

“Why?” She asked back, a sound barely a word, “You saw what he did.”

“You’re going to kill him.”

“Good.” The man's face was black and red and blue from the blood dripping off his nose and mouth. "It's what he deserves."

“He deserves worse,” He amended, kneeling next to her, “but this isn’t _you_.”

Her right fist froze in the air. Her lips parted like she forgot how to breathe again, but she dragged air in a deep breath, gritting her teeth and then gnashing them together. Wraith pulled herself away from the geneticist’s body as if it burned her, staring like it was really the first time she ever saw the man. Muller curled his body and pressed his bruised and broken digits to his face, moaning in pain. Her eyes flickered from what she did to Mirage, searching his eyes for anything. She didn’t find it.

There’s odd relief in her shoulders when she walked towards the adjoined Operating Room.

“Path,” He called over his shoulder, “think you can give SARAS a call?”

The MRVN raised his thumb, a contrast to the crying face on his monitor.

The Operating Room wasn’t any better. There was less amount of blood spatter, but there were six dead Black Aces piled in a corner. One of them was spread eagle on a desk, his arm and leg partially devoured—just when he thought Muller can't get any worse.

Wraith was over the main terminal, her Carbine set aside while she sorted through data hastily flickering on the screen. It's the severe concentration on her face, he suspected, that reminded him she's IMC. Or, was. The very people his Dad and Brothers fought against in the War to be able to keep a little piece of home in the Frontier. The people he almost fought against if his Mom had someone to take care of her when he left. Some days he's still reeling from the information, most of the times it's like right now:

Mirage knew he should be apprehensive of her the same way he is around Bangalore, but he really isn't. Wraith is his squad mate before she was anyone else, and that made the whole situation different.

“He wanted me.” She confessed, “My very first Game, he immediately contacted me to ask about my eyes. I dismissed him as some fancy cosmetic Optometrist but he kept sending me messages.”

Mirage set himself a few feet away from her, giving her privacy while she skimmed through files. “He sounded like a complete stalker.”

“He needed to interview me for his research.” Wraith continued, “I don't read fan mails often so I forgot about him. Several weeks ago, the tone of his invitation changed. Come to think of it, the first murder case happened then. I don't know how that didn't raise concern. It wasn’t until tonight when Jack mentioned the rumors…when I remembered how he worded his messages.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "You were right about me going to my apartment because I looked into the addresses he gave me. All of them were suspiciously in the middle of nowhere, or in the Perigo's bowels."

He fixed her a look. “you ain’t gonna blame yourself for this, right?”

“But I _am_ somehow responsible.” She raised a hand to the data on the screen, its text too little for him to be readable. “He wanted to know how I got my eyes. According to this, there are billionaires who are asking him to recreate it. Maybe,” Her eyes darted back to the hallway, “maybe if I answered a few questions, this didn’t have to happ—”

“Or you could be blind. Worse, dead. And no one would know what happened.” He moved in front of her line of sight, blocking Muller. “No offense Wraith, you may seem like you’re really scary but you’re too quick to helping pe—”

“—have to lower my— _fuck_. I don’t need to hear this cheering up bullshit right now, Mirage.” Her voice rose, “People are _dead_.”

“And it _ain’t_ because of you.”

That seemed to get through to her. She drew her head back, eyes wide and disturbed when she turned back to the console. “He made progress on the research. He found out how to turn irises a different color through hormones he injected in people's brains but he doesn't know how to turn it back. That's why the victims acted the way they did. It's all here.” There’s a heavy pause, “What do I do with it?”

She’s asking for his opinion in this. He thought about saying it’s up to her, but it seemed wrong. There are positive consequences to this decision, but the negative outweighed just about everything. This seemed like something it would dog her for years, regardless of the outcome. So, he helped decide. If she one day regretted it, she can blame him instead. “Delete it.”

“You remember what I said, right?” Wraith turned half her body towards him, “Billionaires are interested in this. Muller can die and they’ll just get another doctor to do the same messed up shit he did.”

“If he was up to say, infared—infarfred eyes, thing, I’d understand. Honestly that sounds more amazing. Again, no offense.” He paused at the weak attempt on humor. “It’s not though. It’s just some big shot wanting to impress their date.”

“People suffered for that.” Wraith muttered darkly.

“It ain’t your fault.”

She opened the command-line interpreter, entering the necessary codes. Blocks of text quickly came up, and the Skirmisher skimmed through it one last time before hitting enter, permanently deleting Muller’s research.

She stepped away from the terminal, picking up her Carbine and reloading another magazine. He felt his lips quirk the first time that night, readying his Flatline as she moved to stand next to him, “I have a feeling you’re going to keep telling me that.”

“Yeah,” He said, “Until you believe it.”

Both of them opened fire at the consoles in the room, unloading all their bullets on the hardware.

* * *

Search and Rescue Association of Solace arrived half an hour after the trio hog tied Muller with the same metal he used on his victims. They decided to wait in the Cargo Hold until multiple land vehicles pulled up. Gibraltar was at the helm of it, greeting them when he arrived but had to lead the rescue first. Within ten minutes, SARAS was pulling out bodies in stretchers. The Fortress always smiled when he greeted people, but it was strained when he returned.

“Hey brothas.” He nodded to the team behind him, giving them a clear to brave the halls by themselves. He lowered his Spitfire to the side. “No offense, all of you could look an’ smell a little better.”

“Like you can talk.” Mirage let out a quiet laugh. “You need a bath like the rest of us.”

“I am good.” Pathfinder raised a hand, “I don’t like baths very much.”

Gibraltar’s smile grew warmer, taking the butt of the joke. Like the volunteers that came out, his boots too were tracking blood, patches of it staining the bottom of his pants. The four of them watched the activity in the cargo hold for a while, comfortable in complete silence.

“The three of you did good today.”

They all reacted at the same time: Path clasped his metal hands together, Mirage let out a disbelieving chuckle, and Wraith a loud snort.

“I’m serious.” The Fortress nodded, “Anita had Muller in her radar. She was planning on askin' us for help when she had concrete proof for his involvement, but turns out you three already were already on to it. And here everyone thought you an’ Wraith broke up or somethin’.”

Wraith ignored the jab, “Is he alive?”

“Yeah brotha,” Gibraltar answered, “for now. SARAS got an order to turn him over to the Syndicate. I’m guessin' the consoles were your work?”

Mirage raised his palms in the air, “Can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The Fortress gave him a tight smile, “The Syndicate sent a team to raid his clinic in Perigo. Dunno the details of it but there’s some research and evidence on human experiment. That’s enough to indict him.”

The Skirmisher’s shoulder tensed at the information, and Mirage wondered if Gibraltar was waiting for an explanation. He brought up the dreaded question instead.

“Did anyone survive?”

“We had to shoot them.” Wraith said, “We had no choice.”

“I know. That’s why I said you did good.” He clapped the Skirmisher in the back making her scowl, but it disappeared when the Fortress added, “We found a hundred an' seventeen people on board, forty of them are still alive. Could have been worse if you didn’t hold back. Our medic looked over one victim and said her corneas are salvageable. Shattered bones on the hands an' feet but she’ll be fine. It’s their mental state that’s hard to determine, but whatever got put into them didn't seem permanent.”

Gibraltar was looking at Mirage after the words were said, and he furrowed his eyebrows confused until he realized who the Fortress was looking out for.

“Eh,” He took the cue, “They’ll be fine. People are more resilient than you think. Right, Wraith, Path?”

“Humans are indeed strong.” The MRVN nodded, “That is something MRVNs do not possess. When we encounter problems, we determine if it is something that can be fixed or not. MRVNs simply consider the problem inexecuteable and proceed to the next itinerary because it is not in our programming. Humans always find a way to overcome.”

There was a short pause between them, and Wraith’s shoulder shook when she huffed a small laugh, pressing an ungloved palm to her face. “All of you are sappy and unsubtle.”

“That’s better.” Mirage grinned, nudging her with her elbow, “We saved people, even if we ain't expecting to,” he turned back to Gibraltar, “we get to be heroes, right?”

“Hell yeah, brothas.” Gibraltar snickered. “Heroes of Madidi, if you want.”

“I like that title.” Path’s monitor turned to hearts. “It’s my favorite part of doing something good.”

Mirage skimmed a hand in the air, “Mirage, the Holographic Trickster, Hero of Madidi. Has a ring to it, yeah?”

Wraith elbowed back, “You’re insufferable.”

They kept the light banter going for another ten minutes, until Gibraltar was called to assist a group and Pathfinder came to help him. From a distance, they watched the Fortress talk to the driver of a SARAS transport vehicle, and the Scout help in carrying the victims at the back.

* * *

“I don’t think I ever thanked you.” Wraith began, “I think—when I think about it, the first thing you did was try and help me, even I walked out on you. You went out of your way to dig into Muller, you called for back-up, you let me pilot your ship,” she paused awkwardly, as if realizing the last one wasn’t as relevant as the rest, “you had my back.”

She’s already looking at him when he turned to her.

“I w—well, I’m supposed—” He rubbed off a flake of blood dried on his cheekbone and remembered it was a scratch at the prick of pain, “Of course. That’s what we do.”

"You never questioned me." Her brows furrowed, "Why?"

"Knew you ain't gonna be doing anything wrong anyway."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged and smiled. "Guess I just know you." 

Wraith's features softened and she looked away. “I was scared for a second, that you would...” She trailed off, “I don’t like revenge, I’m not that type of person. I told you that before. But when I saw Muller, I was just so angry. I wouldn’t have regretted seeing him dead, but I would have regretted killing him. I would have stolen from the families that wanted justice served. And, thank you for that too.”

“Oh don’t make me sound so cool.” He snorted, “The whole time I wanted to ask you if it was okay to let the people have at him instead.”

“That still would have been more justified.”

“Damn, should have picked that then.”

Sunrise filtered between the thick canopies of native Solace trees, bathing Wraith in a soft glow when she leaned her head against his arm. “If you remind me of this word for word, I'm gonna pretend I don't remember."

His heart picked up a beat, not knowing whether to move her head comfortably on his shoulder or leave her there. “What is it?”

“I have your back too.” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you if you happen to be on the enemy squad during the Games, but if came down to it, you need me, just call.”

Mirage let out a quiet laugh, because humor was easier to deal with than the wild elation blooming in his chest, “Now who’s being sappy?”

“Shut up.” Wraith slapped his chest with the back of her hand, her index finger scratching his beard when she pointed at him “This stays between us. I will do bodily harm if anyone finds out—oh, stop laughing. I want to sleep.”

He wrapped an arm to support her back, and Wraith pressed fully against his shoulder, hiding her face in his scarf. He’s grinning, although he’s too tired to think about the exact reason. They’re alive, they're still here. They saved people. They're okay.

Mirage is still grinning almost an hour later when Gibraltar and Pathfinder came to tell him they can go home, and he says no, they can’t, because Wraith is asleep and he can’t move.

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is very late!
> 
> i found out about 31 Days of Apex in July 1 at around 8 to 9 pm which is why i don't have anything prepared in advance (⋟﹏⋞). i ended up being able to write a fanfic per day but i didn't have enough time to edit so it piled up. on top of it, Day 9 Weapon and 13 Hero got waaay out of hand. i still want to finish this series regardless of being extra super mega duper late even if it's probably disqualified or smth, bc i have spent literally every day of July writing. not that it matters but this was a lot more productive than my last year's NaNoWriMo LOL
> 
> i also i forgot to put it in 01 but 31 Days of Miraith is Wiz's idea from Miraith discord, not mine. Wiz deserves the credits :)
> 
> thank you for reading!♡


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